"Donald Olson - The Busboy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Olson Donald)

is...”
Never dreaming that his finding the blue leather wallet could lead to such a
bizarre request, Tyler asked Ramona Lerch how she had injured herself.
She dabbed at her amber-speckled eyes with a grubby lace handkerchief. “I
was fetching something from the kitchen and, clumsy me, didn’t I trip over poor
Pussky. Went down like a ton of bricks on both knees. They’re bad enough as it is.
Arthritis, osteoporosis, you name it. Somehow I struggled to my feet, but since then
I’ve been a virtual cripple. Bless the Lord I had Daddy’s canes or I’d be totally
helpless.”
“Was there no one to lend a hand?” Tyler asked.
“Not a soul on God’s green earth. As it is, I’ve been alone and all but
housebound for years. I was not about to call Mr. Chambers, thank you very much.
He’d probably have thought it was a trick to get him over here. Once upon a time,
wild horses couldn’t have kept him away. And then, to add misery to misfortune,
poor Pussky passed away on the kitchen floor. She can’t stay in the pantry forever.
She must be given a decent burial. My dear boy, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d do
me this favor.”
“In the backyard, you said?”
“Under the catalpa tree. There’s all you’d need in the toolshed. Do please say
you’ll do it.”
Well, why not? He had all the time in the world and he was feeling genuinely
sorry for Ramona Lerch. He promised he would come back next day after work.
“You’re an angel. I shan’t be ungenerous.”
Tyler rode home feeling very pleased with himself. Ordinarily he was less
inclined to daydream than most young men of his age and circumstances, yet living
as he did on the fringe of poverty, with little to distinguish one day from another, he
took it in mind that the finding of the blue leather wallet might have fateful
consequences. Suppose Ramona Lerch were to continue to depend on him. She
said herself that she was all but helpless. Inside and out, the house was in dire need
of attention. Everything appeared to be in a state of rapidly advancing dilapidation.
That he might become indispensable to Ramona Lerch was a pleasant prospect to
contemplate as he lay in bed in his cramped room at the rooming house.
This fantasy occupied his thoughts as he took off for Stoneham Avenue Villas
the following afternoon.
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” exclaimed Ramona Lerch, resting
heavily on her two canes. “Then I would have been in a fix.”
“I promised I’d be here, didn’t I?”
Ramona made her way to the back porch where, leaning on the rail, she
pointed out the spot under the catalpa tree at the far end of the lawn, unmowed in
many a summer from the look of it, where she wanted Tyler to dig Pussky’s grave.
With a spade from the toolshed Tyler neatly excavated a site into which to lower the
silver-chest coffin, encircled with a pink silk ribbon tied in an elaborate bow.
Without being asked, but still observed by the sniffling Ramona, Tyler then
proceeded to mow the lawn with an old push mower he found in the toolshed. He
quite enjoyed the task, despite the heat of the day, and was encouraged by
Ramona’s praise to believe it might be the first of many tasks she would require of
him. Painting the house, for instance, were Ramona agreeable, could take weeks,
while even from the cracked cement driveway he could spot traces of rust on the
narrow wrought-iron balcony adorning the window of a room high up under the
gable, possibly an attic bedroom which Tyler thought would be just right for him.